It’s funny, I remember a time when I thought that I’d eventually get to the point that I didn’t hit the wall anymore. I thought that becoming a writer meant that I wouldn’t find myself at those points where motivation is lacking, and inspiration is dry, and I sit in front of my computer, trying desperately not to check facebook for the dozenth time, trying not to let myself get distracted. Trying not to fall flat on my face.
But that doesn’t happen. The bad days keep happening, the hard times keep rolling in. The thing that is changing is me. Not a lot. I’m still weak willed and prone to let myself wander, but I’m becoming more familiar with my weaknesses. I’m getting knocked down just as often, but I’m getting better at standing back up. I think. Maybe.
Book three is dragging a bit. I’m well into it, I’d say two thirds to three quarters of the way through the first draft, but I’m having a hard time making myself keep at it. It feels like it doesn’t matter. But I’ve felt this way before. And I know that I’ll feel this way again.
But I also know that I’ll get through it again.
Sorry, I know this isn’t a particularly interesting post, but it’s important to me. It’s like those epic quest stories you read: the focus is on the battles and great escapes, but I think that every once in a while they should give you a glimpse of the days and weeks of slogging through rough terrain, massaging blistered feet and trying to clean yourself off with the dribble of water from a creek.